


The Night Watchman and the Gent

by Hiver_Frost_Elf



Series: The Groundskeeper and the Gent [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coldwave Week 2018, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Vampire Leonard Snart, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-16 12:24:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14811332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiver_Frost_Elf/pseuds/Hiver_Frost_Elf
Summary: Len adds a masterpiece to his collection.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by TheRedHarlequin's blurb about art collecting vampires Len and Mick seducing human Barry.

Mick’s current job was babysitting some paintings for a museum.  He had to hand it to the artist—apparently a mystery lost to time—their craftsmanship was remarkable.  The brushstrokes of one piece in particular raked across the canvas as if the intention was to rip out the concept’s guts for all to see, a lamb upon a sacrificial pyre so that others may live.  It displayed such unabashed candor, banging its fist on the table, looking folks in the eye, and saying,  _Life hurts!  That’s how it is, that’s how it’s always been, and that’s how it’ll always be; but don’t go spreading your pain around.  Be the salve that heals others’ aches, the lighthouse that guides them home._

A man just shy of Mick’s height approached him, his eyes looking upon the art with awe and joy.  They were blue with a sliver of silver.  He was clean-shaven with shorn, peppery hair and dressed in a fitted navy suit.

“Which one’s your favorite?” he asked.

Mick pondered the collection, then returned to the piece they were both in front of: ribbons fading to blood, something pretty becoming something raw.

“People are afraid of this one,” hummed the gent. “They ogle it for a second, then move on to the others.”

“Cuz this one’s real.”

The gent gave him a curious look, “They’re all real...” his eyes swept to his badge, “Mister Rory.”

Mick snorted, “This one’s tryin’ to learn ya somethin’.”

“And just what is that lesson, Mister Rory?” his eyes sparked with a certain something.

“...Life’s a bitch, but don’t be a bitch back.”

As they talked, they discovered that they both traveled—the gent for pleasure and business, Mick unable to settle anywhere.  The gent smiled giddily when a favorite book of Mick’s got brought into the conversation: Dracula.

“Hid it in the barn cuz my ma wouldn’t let nothin’ scary in the house.  Read it with the horses when my chores were done.”

“My sister and I would hide food and money from our father,” the gent blurted out, his eyes going wonky like he didn’t want to say that.

“...He bugs you, I’ll burn ‘im.”

“Oh, thank you,” he chuckled, at ease once more, “but he’s been dead for years now. Allergic reaction.”

“Hide his EpiPen on ‘im too?” Mick grinned.

“Didn’t have to.  He didn’t believe in modern medicine.”

“Well I hope he’s burnin’ in hell then.”

“If he ever had a soul to send anywhere.”

Hours later, Mick clocked out and drove halfway across the highway before realizing that he never caught the gent’s name, number, or anything.


	2. Chapter 2

Life was humdrum until the next gala.  The gent was dressed in black with a scarlet scarf, matching Mick’s favorite painting.

“Well, look at you, fancy pants.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” the gent smiled, his eyes sweeping over Mick’s form. “Modeling the latest in night watchman chic, I see.”

Mick guffawed, “Standard uniform, sir.”

“Oh, I assure you, Mister Rory, there’s nothing standard about you.”

Mick beat himself up for failing to catch his name again, again, again, and again—didn’t even snatch a job title at the final gala!


	3. Chapter 3

Mick turned his apartment, locker, and truck upside-down looking for his key card.  Some bastard snagged it and stole every last scrap from the new donations!  Mick got stuck with the tab for the security lapse and utterly plastered at the bar yet no less humiliated when he finally sobered up.

Not even his lighter sparked happiness within him.

He ran through the classifieds where employer after employer rejected him.  The parade of shame set him back to the bar.  He was about to take his fifth shot when a hand clasped his, “I think you’ve had enough tonight.”

Mick snapped his gaze toward the voice, freezing up when he found himself face to face with the gent.

“Good evening, Mister Rory,” his voice poured honey into his ears.

Mick grumbled, clutching his glass like a security blanket, “Nothin’ good about it...”

“I heard about the robbery.”

“What about it?  That  _my_  card fucked everyone over???  This is... thawwuz mah seventh job this year, an’ it ain’t even May!”

The gent moved the shot away from Mick, never taking his hand off him, “...Have you got job eight lined up yet?”

“No! Nobody needs an idiot!!!”

“You’re not an idiot, Mister Rory, I find you remarkably intelligent.”

“If I’m so smart, then why doniave a job???”

“How about you mow my lawn, keep my gardens tidy?  Get out of the city???  Room and board, peerless pension, decent dental...  And if you hate it, I’ll write you a letter of recommendation that’ll get you in anywhere.”

“...Outta the city, huh?”

“That’s right,” the gent smiled, his words fuzzy in Mick’s ears. “Stars, clean air, farmers markets... fireplace...”

Mick perked up, “Fireplace?”

“Mm-hmm,” the gent nodded. “You can cozy up and read something from the library every night.”

“Libarry?”

“I’ve got all sorts of treasures in there: Mary Shelley, Bram Stoker, Isaac Asimov, H.G. Wells, Brothers Grimm, Hans Christian Andersen, Victor Hugo...”

“‘Ell-FIGH-yer!”

“That’s the Disney version.”

“Kisses liv me ‘igher, sweesongova kyer, ligh’ mah mornin’ sigh, burnin’ luv!”

“That’s  _Lilo & Stitch_,” the gent chuckled, leading him outta the dive after paying Mick’s tab. “Originally, Elvis.”

“S’ill dunno yer name!”

“Leonard Snart,” he patted Mick’s shoulder, “but to you, I’m Len.”

“Lenny...” Mick nuzzled his shoulder.

He smiled as he held him, “That works, too.”


	4. Chapter 4

Len was waiting for him at the platform bright and early the next morning, awaiting the train, tickets in hand.  His clothes included a light blue scarf and matching beanie and a navy pea coat that looked like they’d been bought off the rack and tailored that morning.  Mick, by contrast, was in a beat up jacket from his firefighting days and the least ratty Henley and jeans he had.  Len strode right into first class.  Folks stared at his out of place companion.  Mick felt their judgmental eyeballs on him until they sat down, and even then, he knew they’d still stare if they could see him.

Len looked out the window, becoming lost in thought, replying to texts from his sister when they flew in.  He even answered emails on that thing!

Mick donned his reading glasses and grabbed his favorite contraband out of his duffel bag.  The spine was shattered, and the pages were tattered; but other than that, it’d held up all these years!

Len, on the other hand, looked like he was gonna have a stroke, “What is that?”

“ _Dracula_ ,” Mick flashed the cover at him.

“Any sentimental value?”

“Nah, but never throw something away if you can still u—”

Len plucked it out of Mick’s hand and chucked it out the window then handed him a fresh copy, “You, Mister Rory, will read like a king.”

They stared at each other.

“...You look good in glasses,” Len finally said.

Mick mumbled his thanks and hid in the book while Len looked out the window, his gaze occasionally flickering in Mick’s direction.


	5. Chapter 5

They retrieved their gear from baggage claim.  Len had two suitcases plus his laptop tote, while Mick had a suitcase and his duffel bag.

Len couldn’t comprehend boiling one’s entire life down to less than what he packed for a business trip, not anymore.  It reminded him of living under Lewis’s thumb, “That’s it???”

“Everything worth keeping,” Mick shrugged. “Not all of us are in the one percent.”

Len rolled his eyes and his luggage, “I’m not in the one percent.”

“Closer to it than me.”


	6. Chapter 6

Len’s estate was a vision of rural royalty.  Pastures rolling into the horizon, cool air massaging Mick’s skin—the bits that weren’t burnt—Len even had a pool!

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Len flourished his free hands after tucking his bags out of the way, intending to put them back in their proper places later.

“Ain’t nothin’ humble about it.”

High ceilings, granite countertops, a kitchen with all the fixings, a dining room that would seat the army and the navy, a fuckin’ ballroom—who the fuck had those!?  All  _Beauty and the Beast_  with a chandelier and everything!  Mick was just waiting for the mugs and clocks to come to life.  Actually, that’d be awesome if a candlestick came to life!  They could burn so much together...

“I have a fire pit out back you can use anytime you like,” Len made Mick want to explode! “as well as the fireplace downstairs.  I would like to ask that you stay out of the basement for your safety.  I haven’t gotten it renovated yet.”

“You got it, boss.”

Len’s eyes flickered wide for a split second.  Mick stored that tidbit away for later.

“Is there anything in particular you’d like to eat later?  I tend to eat out for lunch then in for dinner, but given the train ride, I’d prefer not to cook tonight.”

“Well, whacha got?  I’ll rustle up something!”

“Mister Rory, I can’t possibly ask that of you; your job—which starts tomorrow, not today—does not include cooking.”

Mick scoffed with a smile, “Well, if ya won’t let me do it as your minion, then let me do it as you friend.”

"Very well, Mick," Len chuckled, then introduced him to the fridge and walk-in pantry.


	7. Chapter 7

Mick settled in like a kitten in a box.  The land was tidier than ever under his watch, impressing Len’s sister when she came a-calling.

“I’ve always admired a working man,” she purred, watching Mick from the gazebo.

“Leave him alone, Lis’,” Len twitched at her.

She cackled.

Mick rolled his eyes and kept on trimming the hedges.


	8. Chapter 8

Len worked weird hours yet always ate dinner with Mick.  Saturdays, he’d accompany Mick to the farmers’ market where Mick discovered that Len was halfway decent at selecting ripe fruits and veggies.  Mick had gotten rusty from his time in the city, but his crash course with Len reignited his farming instincts.

“Would you like to try a sample?” one of their neighbors—a graying lady with a sleek black cat loafing on her stall—offered them a baguette slice slathered in strawberry jam that popped against Mick’s tongue.

Mick hoped his moan wasn’t too loud.

He blushed when Len bought the lady’s entire stock.


	9. Chapter 9

“Run out of room in your closet, Lenny?” Mick asked when he came down for breakfast on the morning he found a brand new wardrobe in his room.  He’d apparently slept through Len bringing it in.

Len gave him a confused look as he bit into some strawberry toast.  Realization soon dawned on him, “They’re for you.  Do you not like them?  I may have gone overboard shopping with Lisa.”

“Lis’ thinks I ain’t in style?”

“She claims someone’s wardrobe shouldn’t consist solely of Henleys, wife beaters, and jeans.”

“Hmph,” Mick grinned through a sip of coffee. “Noticed some fancier stuff in there too.  Lisa planning on takin’ me to the ball?”

“Actually... I do.”

Mick looked up at Len.

Len stared back.

They blinked at each other.

“...One of my business partners is hosting a summer gala.  I usually hire an escort, but I thought maybe you’d like to get out of town for a weekend?”

“Long as we have a hot tub in our hotel room, sign me up!” Mick said as a joke; he’d go with Len either way.

A hot tub had been installed when they returned.

Subtle.


	10. Chapter 10

Winter rode in swiftly and mercilessly.  Mick and Len could still go outside, but the roads would take forever to get plowed.

“Are you warm enough at night?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Mick said before he sneezed. Liar. “A bit chilly, that’s all...”

Len’s eyes bugged out as if Mick had woken up frozen solid.

Len hunted down every last scrap of fabric in the house to heap upon Mick that night and even commissioned a neighbor to craft him a quilt.

In the meantime, Mick built a fire that warmed them all day.


	11. Chapter 11

“What’s up, Lenny?” Mick asked as he bit into a peanut butter and jam sandwich.

Len frowned at his phones, “Axel’s not taking his meds, and the twins are causing a ruckus in Central again. A loud ruckus.”

More of Len’s weird and wonderful family had come visiting over the months Mick had been there.

  * Axel, Mark, and Clyde: the shittiest little shits.
  * Lisa: the shiniest little shit.
  * Hartley: the least shitty little shit.
  * Shawna: the good one.



Hartley often came on his own, but Lisa would sometimes drag him kicking and screaming and Axel would sometimes drag him kissing and screaming.  Lisa would either come with the whole group or by herself.  Shawna usually came as part of Lisa’s gang or with Axel.  The twins always visited together, and Axel never visited alone.

Shawna and Axel warmed up to Mick after Lisa told them he was okay, the twins initially thought Mick would steal their big brother from them, and Hartley begrudgingly accepted that another person had invaded life.

They all lived in the city, and while Lisa typically kept them in line, Len sometimes needed to head down there to lay down the law, as he did this time.


	12. Chapter 12

The business kept him longer than Len initially predicted, and Mick had gone stir-crazy.  His lighter was no longer enough to hold his attention, and he couldn’t drink himself to sleep because Len didn’t keep a drop of alcohol anywhere on the premises—the stuff reminded him of his father.  Mick couldn’t blame Len for that, but he sorely wanted to.

Mick gazed at a closed door.  His hand lingered on the bronze knob.

Len hadn’t gotten around to renovating the danger out of the basement yet.

The door creaked open.

Mick took a few tentative steps on the stairs. Seemed sturdy enough.  Alright air quality.  Spiders hadn’t claimed the area as their own.  Mick didn’t know what Len was so worried about.  Len was the head of the family, so it was his job to be responsible, but Mick began believing Len was fretting again.  It wasn’t the shitshow Len had warned him about, more like a museum...

An art museum.

All the stolen paintings—every damn one of them—were right there!

Mick hoped he’d just gone crazy.  He reached out to red ribbons against black.  They couldn’t be here.  They couldn't be!

Mick yanked his hand back when he heard a creak above him.

Len’s shadow stretched across the stairs and grazed against Mick.

Adrenaline rushed through Mick’s veins.  He had muscle power and an inch on Len, he could take him.

But would he take him???


	13. Chapter 13

Everything around Mick felt soft and familiar, as if he was in bed and not wanting to wake up.  Just let those paintings be nightmares.  Let him dream that Len was only Mick’s boss, Mick’s companion, a family man, his own version of eccentric.

Instead, he dreamed of a young man and his sister trapped in the clutches of a monster for centuries—starving every day because he couldn’t be bothered to feed them.  They ensure he’ll never terrorize anyone else when they rise against him.

The young man and his sister slay more monsters, free more children.  Their immortal clan grows loyal and fierce over the years.

The not-as-young man takes up painting.  His brushstrokes peerless, his colors masterfully mixed and selected, his layouts superb.

Then a fire burns his studio down.

The man’s devastated.  His life’s work is gone.  He stops painting.  What’s the point when he’ll lose it?  What’s the point of creating something new when his heart will mourn for the old???

Centuries pass.

Word reaches him of his collection taking center stage at an art gallery.  He can’t believe it, can’t get his hopes up, he’s only dreaming...

He arrives, and by some miracle, every last piece is intact and restored!  He wants to drop to his knees with joy!  They’re all right there, he just has to reclaim them.

He chats up the nearest guard in order to steal his key card, mind already churning with plans and backup plans.

But the guard has a soul as warm as a bonfire, a mind as sharp as flint, and wit for days—finishing his sentences like an old friend.

Another night, he said.

Another, another, another.

The last gala slaps him in the face with its suddenness.  He has to take back his collection tonight or they’ll be scattered to vaults across the world!

And when this handsome night watchman is blamed for the lapse in security, he seizes the opportunity to add this masterpiece to his collection.


	14. Chapter 14

Mick woke up with a letter of recommendation on his nightstand.  He stormed downstairs after reading it.

He waved it in Len’s face, “What the fuck is this!?”

“A way out,” Len’s posture was guarded.  His eyes glinted with silver.  His fangs poked out between his lips.  He’d need them if Mick attacked him.

“You idiot!” Mick yanked him into a kiss, mindful of those fangs, pouring all his devotion into it.

Len initially froze yet rushed on board when he realized Mick wanted to stay.  He wound his arms around Mick’s neck, nibbling on Mick’s lips.

“Wait, so...” Mick panted.

“What?”

“...You’re a fuckin’ hot old geazer!”

Len laughed through their next kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking time to read this; enjoy the finale of Coldwave Week 2018!


End file.
